


Ropes

by Bittodeath



Series: SpideyPool Monthly Challenge [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (not yet ;) ), Alternate Universe - Historical, Bandits & Outlaws, Enthusiastic Consent, Far West, Guns, M/M, Outlaw Wade Wilson, Rough Sex, Sheriff Peter Parker, Shibari, Smut, Wade doesn't have scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: In the small town of Queens, Arizona, sheriff Peter Parker deals law and order into his parish - and it's, quite frankly, boring. He'd love to catch a grand criminal. Someone like Wade Wilson.Until Wade Wilson stomps into his life.





	Ropes

The first time Sheriff Parker saw infamous outlaw Wade Wilson, nicknamed “Deadpool”, it was on a Wanted poster. The portraitist had rendered a burly man with short hair, a square jaw and an impossibly intense gaze. He was wanted dead or alive, for 30 000$. Sheriff Parker’s parish was extended in Arizona, though there weren’t many towns yet. He was settled down in the small city of Queens, the last town before the Wild West. It was a quiet town, mostly – they had deals with the local tribes, and Sheriff Parker maintained the peace with efficiency and justice.

Queens most attractive feature for Sheriff Parker, though, was its lack of women. They were few, and the ones who were there were all married, and it suited him well. He knew his people enough: they would see him married as soon as there would be an opportunity, and Sheriff Parker was not only fine on his own, but also more of an admirer of the masculine gent.

The Wanted poster was displayed in the Sheriff’s office – it was a small building with a cell in the corner, a corkboard on the wall and a large wooden desk. Rolls of ropes hung from the wall behind the Sheriff’s chair, as well as two shotguns and two handguns. The Sheriff himself was a very young man for such a responsibility, but he was a gunslinger, his two Colts perpetually strapped to his muscular thighs. He looked even younger than he really was, his face baby-smooth and soft brown hair framing doe-like eyes.

And so Sheriff Parker spent a good deal of time in his office, polishing his hunting knife with his boots on his desk, eyes set on the poster. He dreamed of arresting such a criminal one day – one that would bring him recognition… and maybe, also, a bit of excitement in his altogether boring life.  
He never expected such a wish to be answered.

The sun would be setting in less than an hour and Sheriff Parker was sitting in the saloon with his glass of whiskey, his golden star emblem glinting on his chest, when the doors were banged open and in strode a cow-boy with the bluest eyes ever, taking in everything, analysing everything. And then those eyes settled on Peter – he was no longer Sheriff Parker under this gaze, no, he was the Peter whom Uncle Ben called so he would come and help herd back the cows to the barn.

The stranger grinned and Peter’s heart missed a beat, taking in the blond hair peaking out from under his hat, the five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, the thin scar over his lips, the red shirt with the sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms and the dark pants. The stranger’s boots clinked on the ground with each step, and the many firearms criss-crossing over his whole body glinted in the evening sunlight.

“Look at that, a flower in the middle of the fuckin’ desert. Must be my lucky day”, the stranger said with a cheeky grin.

Peter looked around, but he saw none of the women in the saloon, and then looked back at the man who was staring at him expectantly, with an amused smirk.

“Yes baby boy, it’s you I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Didn’t expect such a doll-face in a hell-hole like this”, the man said, stepping up to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “What’s a cutie like you doing in a place like tha-”

The stranger’s eyes had finally fallen on the star adorning Peter’s chest, and Peter’s eyes widened when he realized where he’d seen that gaze: on the other side of his office, staring at him from the paper of the poster.

“Wade Wilson, you’re under arrest”, Sheriff Parker declared, but Wilson had already zoomed out of the saloon.

Peter ran after Deadpool, his gun in hand, but the man was already on his horse, ready to bolt.

“It was a pleasure, Sheriff!” Deadpool called-

He fell down hard and into a dust of cloud when Peter pulled on the lasso, tightening it swiftly and efficiently, as his horse galloped away.

“Like I said”, Peter said calmly even though his heart was beating hard, “you are under arrest, Deadpool.”  
“Shit, what the fuck, no one can throw a lasso that fast!” Deadpool protested.  
“Our sheriff can”, the barman boasted. “You know what the Apache call him?”  
“I’m sure you will tell me”, Wade groaned, rolling in the dust and trying to worm his way out – but Peter only tightened the lasso and quickly looped it around his arms and his wrists in a strong knot.  
“Spider-Man!”

Wade Wilson hadn’t expected to get arrested in such a small town, by such a young sheriff, with such a cute face and amazing butt. Scratch that, he hadn’t expected to get arrested _at all_. People feared him, dammit! He was the best shooter in the west and he’d eliminated more than one corrupted sheriff, along with bands of ruthless gangsters, and yet this… this… Damn.

He realized the young sheriff was way stronger than his loose clothing suggested, because he lifted him to his feet without problem and urged him forward, marching him up to the sheriff office and closing the door behind them. The night was quickly setting and the sheriff lit a petrol lamp before he started to take Wade’s weapons from him, putting them in a large chest and locking it up once he was done. Wade had spent that time testing the rope and the knot, but he couldn’t even get enough wiggle room to grab his hidden knife in his boot.

“I’ll get you something to eat and drink”, the Sheriff said, and Wade squinted to decipher the name on his star.  
“Sheriff Parker”, he said. “If I’m to be hanged tomorrow, I’d rather be shot dead today.”

The Sheriff said nothing and pushed him into the cell, closing the door behind him and locking it swiftly. A minute later, he was out, apparently to get the promised food and liquor, and Wade had managed to grab his knife. He swiftly cut through the rope and shook himself free, before grabbing his lock-picking pick, hidden in his belt. As quickly as he could, he worked the door open, and stepped out into the office. He glanced at the chest with his weapons – not time, the sheriff could be back any time. Under the cover of the night, he set out, retrieved his horse and escaped Queens.

With the memory of warm brown eyes burnt into his soul, and a yearning for more.

Peter had never expected to see Wade again after his close call of that night. The modern Robin Hood had escaped as soon as Peter had given him the opportunity to do so, and Peter felt very little remorse. And yet, he immediately recognized the drawl of Deadpool’s voice in his ear as he was hammering down a new edict about cattle on the outside wall of his office.

“Still hard at work, Sheriff Parker”, the man whispered, his breath fanning over Peter’s ear and nape, and making him shiver. “Don’t move”, he added, and Peter felt the cold barrel of a gun against the small of his back. “You and I will get into your office. Slowly, do not try to outsmart me.”

Peter breathed deeply, both frightened and aroused. Wade was so close he could feel his warmth in the setting sun, feel his bulk and see the tall shadow he casted on the wall, dwarfing him.

“Don’t do anything you’d regret”, he whispered.  
“I just want to have a talk”, Deadpool said, and his red bandana masked the bottom part of his face.

Peter took a step back and stumbled, and he felt the hard press of the gun against the apex of his thigh… He stilled, frozen, when he realized this was _not_ a gun. He gulped, willing his own arousal down without success. Shivering, he bit his lip. Why, oh why had Wade to go through his town?

“Happy to see me, Sheriff?” Wade asked, the smug bastard.  
“I’d be happier if there wasn’t a gun in my back”, Peter grumbled, opening his office’s door and getting in.

Wade marched him up to the wall where he took one of the long, thin ropes Peter kept around, and he started to loop it around Peter’s arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Peter finally asked as Wade looped the rope again and again, binding his arms and his torso, and finally his wrists tightly together.  
“This is a technique I learnt in Japan”, the outlaw answered, taking Peter’s guns and blades from him, locking the door and lowering the blinds. “It is called _shibari_. They used it to torture and kill criminals… But lately, it’s changed. It’s all in the wrist, you know? Tight enough that you can’t escape, not tight enough to really maim you. And make you look good as hell.”

Wade flopped down into Peter’s chair and started to scrape his fingernails with a knife, his hat pulled low over his brow and bandana hiding most of his face. It only made his eyes stand out more, and Peter gulped. He’d heard about some of the guy’s actions, and sure he was brutal, but… it didn’t come from a bad place. Peter tried not to, but he’d also killed criminals doing his duty. And something told him Wade… wasn’t here to hurt him. If only because he’d just implied it with his shiri- whatever.

“Alright, then. You wanted to talk. I’m here. Why the fuck did you come back?”

There was a long silence, and then Wade stood up and stomped up to him, looming over him.

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Parker. Dammit, I tried, but there’s this fire in your eyes, and your mouth is so kissable… Couldn’t forget it. Had to see it once again and convince myself it was a bad idea. But you were there and I…” He took a breath and his thumb gently traced the side of Peter’s face, settling on his bottom lip and pulling just slightly. “I want to fuck you, Parker. I want it really, really bad.”

Peter shivered in his bonds, terrifyingly aroused and left wanting more.

“And you’re the sheriff so you’re probably like, very offended right now”, Wade resumed. “So here’s what gonna happen: I will unlock the door and get out of your hair. You’ll never ever see me again. Someone in your town will help you out of these bonds.”  
“And what if I didn’t want you to?” Peter retorted, staring up into bright blue eyes.

Wade looked at him, confused.

“What if”, Peter licked his lips, wishing Wade would pull the damn bandana down, “what if I told you to bend me over my desk and have your way?”

Wade took in a sharp breath, pupils dilating, and he answered in a rough voice.

“Then I’d suggest you tell me the truth now: do you want me, or shall I go now?”  
“I have one condition”, Peter whispered.  
“I’m not untying you, you’d probably just sucker-punch me and put me back in that tiny cell not fit for a dog”, Wade warned.  
“You take the bandana off”, Peter replied. “I want to see your face. I want to feel your mouth.”  
“Fuck. Fuck, okay”, Wade said, voice tight. “No going back, baby boy.”  
“Peter”, the sheriff breathed as Wade pulled him tight against him. “The name’s Peter.”  
“Peter Parker?” Wade snorted. “It’s nearly as bad as Wade Wilson.” He licked his lips and grabbed Peter’s chin between his fingers. “Peter”, he breathed, like he was tasting the name on his tongue, and Peter’s breath hitched.

Wade kissed the way he lived: freely, fully, breathlessly and dizzyingly. Passionately, with a brute strength that made Peter’s blood sing, that made him sigh and sink into him, wanting more, always more, and not caring about the crash. He let out a moan when Wade’s fingers sunk into his hair, pulling on it to keep him close, so that the kiss would never end. When their bodies collided violently and he felt Wade’s arousal once more, when Wade’s fingers fumbled down to his belt, as eager as he was to let the passion rule.

Peter’s trousers, weighed by his belt and empty holster, flopped to the ground, bringing his underclothes with them and staying caught on his boots. His cock sprung up, tenting his long, blood red shirt, and he let out a gasp at the sudden fresh air.

“Hell, look at that”, Wade groaned, biting at his ear, and then his neck, pushing his jacket down as far as the rope would allow, pulling hard enough that the metallic star on the lapel fell to the ground with a clatter. “You’re gorgeous, baby boy. Simply gorgeous.”  
“Fuck me”, Peter breathed, straining against his bonds, “fuck me, Wade.”  
“Damn right, I’ll do you so good you’ll see stars”, Wade grunted as he wiped his arm out over the desk, sending everything to the ground, before he shoved Peter onto it face first.  
“Third drawer”, Peter gasped, and Wade wrenched it open and easily found the glass vial inside.  
“Naughty, sheriff”, he chuckled in a low voice. “Do you get off to my wanted poster often? They did catch my likeness… Staring at my face all day long, it makes you horny?”

Peter whined at having his secret busted so easily, but Wade was warm against the back of his thighs, and the rope bit slightly into his skin, skimming over his nipple through his shirt now that he was bent over his own desk.

“Oh, but you do?” Wade added, and Peter felt his smirk against his nape just before he nipped at it. “You look so good like this, I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard. The things you do to me, sheriff… It should be outlawed.”  
“You don’t seem to care much about laws”, Peter managed to gasp, his voice going up into a throaty moan when Wade pushed two wide, rough fingers into him once he’d coated them in the oil from the vial.  
“Only the ones between us”, Wade murmured, wrapped around him as he fingered him roughly, and Peter writhed as he repeatedly stabbed his prostate. “You’re so tight, baby boy, have you even done this before?”  
“It’s been a long time”, Peter replied, his cheeks flushed and hair a complete mess, moaning and drooling over the wood under his cheek. “Want you in me, now, Wade”, he ordered.  
“Aren’t you cheeky”, the outlaw grinned, giving him a sharp slap to his thigh. “Look”, he added, grabbing his hair and pulling his head up so he had no other choice than to look at the cork board, and at the poster staring back at him from there. “You won’t be riding for a week, baby boy”, he crooned against his ear, his other hand grabbing the rope looped around his wrist and pulling him back towards him.

Wade’s thrust was rough and Peter let out a choked out moan at the sudden feeling – full and hot and burning, the pain mixing with the pleasure into something heady he wanted to get drunk on.

“Oh”, he gasped, and Wade would murmur “that’s right baby, taking me so good”, reeling him up as he pounded him into the desk, the piece of furniture sliding noisily over the floorboards, screeching and squeaking with each powerful thrust, threatening to shatter just like Peter’s body did.

Peter came suddenly, with a broken cry of pleasure quickly muffled by Wade’s fingers pushing into his mouth and making him gag.

“Of fuck”, Wade groaned loudly, releasing deep inside of him.

It took them a few minutes to recover, and Peter could feel the warm semen coating his ass and his thighs, already cooling and drying up, and unpleasant as it would be, he didn’t want to wash away this marking.

“Damn”, Wade croaked when he stepped away, just enough to get a good view, “you look _wrecked_, baby boy.”  
“My arms are falling asleep”, Peter mumbled sleepily.

He heard the sound of a blade dragging against a sheath and the rope fell away, freeing his limbs. He managed to straighten up somehow, just enough to bring his wrists back to his chest and rub them soothingly.

“I want you to be mine”, Wade rumbled, grabbing his chin and pulling him up into a searing kiss. “Stay in your town, catch all the criminals you want, play the sheriff however much you want… but at the end of the day, you’re mine.”  
“It’s too dangerous”, Peter whispered against his lips.  
“All good things are”, Wade replied with a grin. “I’ll be back soon, baby boy. Just wait for me.”

He swiftly put his clothes back in order, put his gun back in its holster and his bandana up on his face, tipped his hat and suddenly he was out the door. And Peter found himself with useless bits of rope, come all over himself and his desk, his office a complete mess… and grinning like a fool.

“I’ll be waiting, then”, he whispered into the night. “I’ll be waiting for you, Wade Wilson.”


End file.
